Outlaw’s Bride (18 page)

Merielle took Patch’s hand and started up the steep stairs in the central hallway. “My room is up here.”

In Merielle’s room, Patch saw further evidence that the thirty-year-old woman had been caught in a web of time. The room was filled with the playthings of a nine- or ten-year-old child. Merielle showed Patch her favorite rag doll.

“Her name is Emily,” Merielle said. “I tell her everything.” Merielle sat on the canopied bed and urged Patch onto the counterpane beside her.

Seated on the bed as they were, the two women were reflected in the gilt-framed mirror that hung above a copper-plated dry sink across the room. Patch wondered what Merielle saw when she looked at herself in the mirror. Did she see a woman with breasts and hips made for childbearing? Or did she see the child she was in her mind?

“What are you looking at, Patch?”

“Two lovely ladies.”

“Lovely? Who?”

“Us, silly.”

Merielle flopped onto her stomach with her chin in her hands and stared at herself in the mirror. The longer she stared, the more confused she got. She knew very well that her nose was too big for her face and covered with freckles, and that her cheeks were too full and made her face look round.

She brushed her hand down the bridge of her nose.
That’s strange. The freckles are gone
.

She touched the pale flesh beneath pronounced cheekbones.
Where did the roundness go?

The face staring back at her
was
lovely. But it wasn’t hers!

She stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes.

Patch laughed at Merielle’s antics. “Didn’t you like what you saw?”

Merielle sat up with her back to the mirror. “Not really.”

“Why not? You’re very beautiful.”

Merielle frowned. “Not yet. But I will be when I grow up. Father says so. My mother was beautiful. She died when I was twelve. That was … that was … a long time ago.”

“How old are you now, Merielle?”

Merielle opened her mouth to answer, but realized she wasn’t sure. “I …”

“When is the last birthday you remember?” Patch prompted.

Merielle sought an answer to the question, but it wasn’t forthcoming. She felt dizzy and closed her eyes to concentrate. Her mouth was dry, and her tongue felt thick. Her head was pounding, but she furrowed her brow and forced herself to think back.

At first there was nothing. It was like being in a maze. Every road she took led to another blind alley. It was frightening because sometimes she felt trapped. As she traversed the maze, she saw something glowing in the distance. She headed for
the light. It was candles. Candles on her birthday cake.

My birthday. It’s my birthday. But which one?

She could see her mother smiling at her, urging her to blow out the candles.

Count them. How many candles are there? One, two—

“I’m eleven!” Merielle announced triumphantly. She opened her eyes and smiled at Patch. “I’m eleven.”

Patch hadn’t realized how farfetched it was to hope that Merielle would regain her memory, until she heard the lovely young woman announce that she was eleven years old. Especially since Merielle had just recollected that her mother had died when she was
twelve
.

There was nothing in Merielle’s behavior that led Patch to believe she had any notion of all the years that had passed since she had been violated. Her actions were consistent with the age she believed herself to be, even if the words that came out of her mouth were not.

There just had to be some way to get through to her. All Patch had to do was find it.

Merielle picked up her rag doll and began rebraiding Emily’s hair. She leaned close to Patch and said, “I told Emily about Frank.”

“What about Frank?”

“That he kissed me.”

“Frank kissed you?” Frank hadn’t said anything about kissing Merielle. Talking, yes. Kissing, no. But then, they hadn’t really had an opportunity to discuss Frank’s efforts to help Merielle regain her
memory. Maybe he had thought a kiss would do the job.

Merielle put a fingertip to her lips. “Don’t tell Father.”

“Why not?”

Merielle bit her lower lip as she concentrated on Emily’s braid. “I …” Merielle knew there was some reason she was not supposed to tell her father about kissing Frank. But she couldn’t remember what it was. “I don’t know. But I’m not supposed to tell him about kissing Frank.”

Patch’s eyes lit with excitement. Maybe Merielle was remembering a time in the past when kissing Frank had been forbidden. Frank had said they kept their relationship a secret from Merielle’s father. “When did Frank kiss you?”

“The other day we were in the barn, and he asked me if he could kiss me.”

“Oh.”

Merielle mistook the reason for Patch’s disappointment. “It wasn’t so bad. At first I liked it.” Merielle reached down and put a hand on her stomach. “It made me feel … funny.”

Merielle tried to remember the sensations. The ticklish feeling that had spread throughout her body. The way her knees had suddenly buckled so she had almost fallen. Then the blackness, swallowing her up, sucking her down, so she felt like she was falling. Even now it made her tremble to remember those other feelings.

“After a little while, I didn’t like it,” Merielle said abruptly. “It scared me.”

“Why were you scared?”

Patch knew she had pressed too hard when she saw the panicked look in Merielle’s dark brown eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” Patch said.

At that moment Maria knocked on the door and called them to supper. Patch noticed that once again Merielle walked wide circles around Boyd. She made up her mind to ask Boyd if this was the first time he had been around Merielle, or if she always acted this way toward him.

Conversation at the dinner table was surprisingly general. Patch couldn’t remember afterward what had been said. She was hoping for a chance to talk to Merielle again after supper, but the young woman pleaded fatigue.

“Will you come again soon?” Merielle asked.

“Maybe we could go on a picnic,” Patch suggested.

“That would be fun! May I go, Father?”

Patch couldn’t look at Trahern because his eyes gave away too much of what he was feeling, and it was plain that his feelings were sad.

“If you wish,” Trahern said. “When is this picnic going to be?” he asked Patch.

“How about next Sunday, after church,” Patch suggested.

“Next Sunday,” Trahern agreed.

Patch gave Merielle a quick hug before she left.

Once Patch and Boyd were back in the buggy, Boyd sidled closer and quipped, “I like the way you say good night. Am I going to get a hug, too?”

Patch wasn’t in any mood to put up with advances from Boyd, especially since she had put
him back on her list of parties suspected of raping a vulnerable young woman.

“What you’re going to get is a black eye if you don’t put some distance between us.”

Boyd scooted away, but looked offended. “You didn’t mind me getting close earlier tonight.”

“Did you rape Merielle Trahern?”

There was a moment of stunned silence before Boyd said, “You’re taking an awful chance asking me a question like that when we’re all alone in the dark, miles from anyone who could hear you scream for help, don’t you think?”

The irony and sarcasm in his voice was enough to convince Patch she had made a mistake. She groaned and looped her arm through Boyd’s to make amends. “I’m sorry, Boyd. I’m going crazy wondering who could possibly have done it.”

“We may never know,” Boyd said.

“Let’s talk about something else.”

“All right. There’s a dance in town on Saturday night. Will you go with me?”

Patch’s first thought was to wonder why Ethan hadn’t mentioned the dance. The answer was painfully obvious. Ethan couldn’t walk freely down the main street of town, let alone attend a social function in Oakville. Patch wished she could tell Boyd that she was committed to Ethan. But Ethan had forbidden it. She was now in the awkward position of having to refuse Boyd without being able to give him the real reason she wouldn’t allow him to court her.

“I couldn’t leave Mrs. Hawk alone,” she said. It sounded like the lame excuse it was.

“You can’t leave her for a few hours to go to a dance, yet you’re going on an afternoon picnic with Merielle the next day?”

“I don’t want to go with you, Boyd.”

“That answer sounds more honest, although I’m not any happier with it. Why won’t you come with me, Patricia?”

“I’m not attracted to you, Boyd.”

Boyd clucked his tongue. “You’re lying again, Patricia.”

Patch flushed, mortified that Boyd knew she was a little fascinated with him, even though it was Ethan that she loved. She told herself it was merely that she felt unsure of herself with Ethan, who had known her first as a baby whose wet drawers he had changed and then as a coltish child of twelve. Naturally she had relished Boyd’s attentions as a sign that she was the kind of woman who could attract a man. But it was Ethan she wanted to attract. Not Boyd.

“I’m flattered that you want to take me to the dance, Boyd. But I wouldn’t feel right kicking up my heels when Ethan is still a hunted man.”

“That’s more honesty, but still leaves me without a partner for the dance.”

“I like you, Boyd,” Patch admitted to soften her refusal. “But I don’t—”

Boyd put a hand to her lips to stop her speech. They were back at the rutted part of the road, so he slowed the buggy down. “All right, Patricia. I’m willing to wait a little while to see whether—how—Ethan’s situation gets resolved.”

“Boyd, I—”

Boyd kissed her.

It happened so suddenly, Patch didn’t see it coming. He just turned his head and laid his mouth on hers. The kiss was over before she had a chance to protest. By the time she realized she should have slapped him, he was already leaning forward again in that harmless pose, his forearms on his thighs, his eyes directed between the horse’s ears. He slapped the reins, and the buggy picked up speed again.

Heat burned in her cheeks. “Don’t ever do that again!”

“You liked it.”

“I didn’t! I hardly know you.”

Boyd showed her a cheeky grin. “But you like me.”

Hoisted on her own petard. Patch was feeling her lack of sophistication in worldly matters. Boyd was Ethan’s age, and it seemed he had learned a few tricks in the ten or twelve years he had on her. But Patch knew the time to stop this flirtation was now, before Boyd’s feelings got engaged.

Whether Ethan wished it or not, she would have to tell Boyd the truth.

Patch saw lights in the distance that signaled they were nearing the Double Diamond. If she was going to say something, she had to do it now.

“I can’t get involved with you because I’m already in love with another man.”

Boyd didn’t look at her, but she saw a muscle tighten in his jaw.

“Ethan,” he said flatly.

Patch said, “Yes.”

“Ethan can’t—won’t—marry you.”

“I won’t argue with you about this, Boyd. I can’t change how I feel.”

It didn’t happen right away, but she saw the tension ease out of him.

“Ethan’s a lucky man,” he said at last.

“I wish you’d tell him that,” she replied with a wry laugh.

“All right, I will.”

“No, don’t!” She put a hand over Boyd’s and removed it when she felt him flinch.

“Why not?”

Patch laughed to relieve her nervous tension. “I want him to figure it out for himself.”

Patch had half expected Ethan to be waiting up for her, but there was no sign of him on the porch when they arrived at the ranch house. She got down on her own, unwilling to give Boyd the opportunity to touch her, afraid he might take liberties again that would cause another confrontation. This time she
would
slap him!

“I’ll unharness the buggy and take care of your horse before I leave,” Boyd said.

“Thanks.” Patch fled into the house before he could say more.

Ethan wasn’t waiting on the porch for Patch because he was waiting in the barn for Boyd. He was sitting on a bale of hay just outside the circle of light created by a lantern hung on the end of an empty stall.

“How did it go?” he said as Boyd led the tired horse into the barn.

Though startled, Boyd quickly recovered his
composure. “I couldn’t figure out why you weren’t waiting on the porch for her. I would have been, if she were my girl.”

“Patch is not my girl.”

“She thinks she is.” Boyd walked Patch’s gelding into the empty stall, found a brush, and began currying the animal’s sweat-flecked hide.

Ethan stayed in the dark. It was easier to speak to Boyd when he didn’t have to worry about his friend reading the brittle emotions on his face. “Patch believes my name will be cleared. She thinks we have a future.”

“What do you think?”

“I think she’s dreaming.”

“Why not tell her so?”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried? She was stubborn and willful as a kid, and she hasn’t changed a whit! She doesn’t know when to give up.”

“Then you give up. Sell out, take your mother and sister and go away. Leave Patch behind.”

Ethan’s heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t the loss of the Double Diamond that crossed his mind. It was the thought of a lifetime without Patch that left him feeling bereft. “I can’t.”

Boyd threw the brush down in the hayrack in disgust. He found his horse in another stall and tightened the cinch on the saddle. “Patricia deserves a chance to be happy. Speaking frankly, I think she’d be happier with me than with you.”

“Maybe so. But I’m not giving her up. Not yet.”

Boyd led his horse to the barn door and mounted up. “You’re my friend, Ethan. So here’s a
little friendly advice. Do yourself a favor. Leave Oakville while you still can.”

“And Patch?”

“She won’t miss you. I plan to make her my wife.”